Nothing that I can see. The risk is all hers.
'Therefore I ask that you both agree to these, my terms. Today we will celebrate a marriage between you, but there must be no consummation of that marriage for one year. If in a year you have decided that you cannot be happy together as man and wife, the marriage can be easily dissolved. Rhiannon can return to us, and although she has given up her rights to be my successor, it is within my ability to restore her powers to her. She may wed among our people and be happy, even as you may wed among your people and be happy.
'This pact will be between those of us within this chamber. No others need know, lest they use this knowledge to cause trouble between Pwyll and Rhiannon. Think carefully, my children, before you answer me; but for both your sakes, I beg you agree,' Dylan concluded.
'It is ridiculous!' Rhiannon burst out. 'Of course we will not agree! How can you even ask such a thing of us, Father?'
'Wait, my love,' Pwyll said. 'Do not be hasty in your anger, but consider what your father has said. You are very wise, my lord king, and I believe you correct when you say there is little risk for me in this marriage, but risk aplenty for Rhiannon. I would never willingly harm her.'
'Do you not think I know that, Pwyll?' Rhiannon cried. 'Still, it is not fair what my father asks of us! Nay, he does not even ask, he demands it as the price of his blessing upon our union! Let us leave this place and be wed in your castle this very day. I will give you a son before another year passes!'
Dylan and Cornelia looked to the prince, whose handsome face was serious and his tone grave as he spoke again.
'Rhiannon, I once told you that I did not feel worthy of one such as you. What your father asks of us is not so hard. It is the only way in which I may prove myself fit within my own mind to be your husband. Give me this opportunity, dearling, I beg of you! Let me show your father, your family… nay! Let me show all the Fair Folk that a Cymri prince is indeed a worthy husband for Rhiannon, the most perfect and beautiful princess of the Fair Folk of this forest.' He knelt before her and, taking her hand in his, he kissed it tenderly.
Cornelia looked to her husband, and Dylan nodded his approval. They did not need to speak aloud to communicate their thoughts with one another. Pwyll's behavior was more than promising and boded well for the success of this marriage, they thought.
Tears, however, sprang into Rhiannon's violet eyes. They were tears of both distress and frustration. How could she deny this man whom she loved so dearly a chance to prove himself, not just to her own people, but in his own mind as well? She could not. 'Stand up, Pwyll,' she said, resigned. When he stood by her side she sighed deeply, and then looking at her father, told him, 'I will agree to your terms, sire. I think it unfair of you to impose such a stricture upon us, but as my beloved lord has no objections, then I too must concur with your wishes.'
Suddenly the mauve mists swirled about them and time dissolved around her, even as it raced by in its eager pursuit of the future.
'One year,' she heard Pwyll say, and his breath was warm against her ear. 'We have been wed one year this day. The time has flown by so quickly, Rhiannon.'
She was in his arms and, looking up at him, she smiled, the year behind them now all quite clear in her mind. 'We have met my father's foolish terms,' she told him, 'and tonight we may, at last, consummate our union. Our people grow quite anxious for an heir. Perhaps when I have given you one they will be less suspicious of me.'
He kissed her pale brow. 'You fret needlessly, my love. Our people both accept and love you,' Pwyll assured his wife.
Rhiannon did not bother to reply, for she knew the truth of the matter, even if Pwyll refused to see it. The Cymri had been nervous and suspicious of her from the moment she arrived at Pwyll's castle. The women of the court were particularly unkind, though never before the prince. Led by Bronwyn of the White Breast, they ignored her when they were alone. They made disparaging remarks about her pale gold hair and very fair skin. They were jealous of her talent at weaving, which far surpassed their own.
'I could weave every bit as well as you,' Bronwyn told her one day, 'if I had magic in my fingertips as you do.'
'There is no magic in what I do,' Rhiannon exclaimed to her disbelieving audience. 'I left my magic behind when I came to Pwyll as his wife.'
'What lies she tells,' mocked Bronwyn boldly. 'As for Pwyll, he would have done better to wed with me as was intended. At least I should have given him a son by now.'
Rhiannon held her peace as the women about her tittered meanly and, then rising, followed Bronwyn from the hall in a show of open rudeness.
'Why do you not tell Pwyll of their disrespect, my princess?' Taran of the Hundred Battles was by her side. His rough features were troubled. From the beginning he had set himself up as her champion.
'What could he do, Taran? Order them to like me? That is something that they must do on their own,' Rhiannon told him serenely. 'I will not distress Pwyll with this foolish pettiness. Do you think I do not recognize Bronwyn's bitterness for what it really is? I know that she would sit in my place. All her life she has assumed that she would be Pwyll's wife. Her family has encouraged her in this ambition, none of them considering for a mere moment whether that might be what Pwyll wanted also. Well, he did not, and Bronwyn, in love with my husband, or at least as much in love as she can love anyone other than herself, must blame someone for her disappointment. I am the logical choice. The other women, used to following her lead, continue to do so, though none of them dare to show me discourtesy before Pwyll.'
'Bronwyn is right about one thing,' Taran answered, and Rhiannon knew instantly to what he referred.
'Soon, Taran,' she promised him. 'Soon I will give our people the news they desire.'
And soon, Rhiannon thought from the comfort of her husband's arms, was at last here. In the year she had been Pwyll's wife, she had not been entirely without allies. There were Taran and his friend, Evan ap Rhys, who, unlike the bluff warrior Taran, were a man of learning. It was he who had taught her all he knew of Cymri history, and Rhiannon in return had shared with him a chronicle of her own people. The simple people of Dyfed held Rhiannon in a great respect, for from the moment of her coming, she had gone gently amongst them as any good chatelaine would. She listened willingly to their problems and concerns, dispensing her own brand of common sense, which was considered magical wisdom by them all. She eased burdens grown too heavy when she could by her personal intervention. She healed through her knowledge of herbs and other medicinal poultices. She was generous with her purse.
All of this had kept her busy, but it had not been enough to make up for the lack of one woman friend with whom to share her secrets and her days. She missed Angharad, for her sister had always been her best friend. She wondered how her family got on, but heard nothing of them. On the day she had ridden from the forest with Pwyll as his wife, she had known that that was how it would always be. She was no longer Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, but neither was she considered a Cymri, because they would not accept her as such.
Slipping her arms about Pwyll's neck, she said huskily, 'Why, my dearest husband, should we wait any longer to culminate our union? The year is over and the terms we agreed upon have been fulfilled. Among my people passion is not a thing confined to the dark hours only.'
He laughed happily. 'Dearest Rhiannon, my desire for you has only grown over this year, but alas, I am expected at a council meeting this morning. The matter of a trading agreement with the land of Gwynnd. I should, I assure you, far rather linger here. It has not been easy sharing a chamber with you these months past while denying what is natural and should have been between us. This afternoon, however, I shall be free.'
'Do you remember the little pond that I showed you in the wood the first day that we spoke?' she asked him.
He nodded slowly.
'Do you think that you could find your way back there this afternoon, Pwyll? I will await you with a picnic feast, and we will allow nature to take its course between us at long last.' Rhiannon smiled into his eyes meaningfully.
'I will be there,' he told her softly, smiling back into those wonderful violet eyes of hers.
Rhiannon hurried to the kitchens of her castle, and the cook, with a smile, packed the picnic basket himself. He liked his master's wife, who had only recently cured his son of a horrible rash the boy had most of his life. It had left
